


Sheers and Tears

by lilmaeval



Category: Ensemble Stars! (Video Game)
Genre: Character Development, Character Study, Haircuts, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:14:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24964324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilmaeval/pseuds/lilmaeval
Summary: Nagisa asks to leave the DRAMATICA meeting early for a hair appointment, but Wataru denies it and instead takes matters into his own hands. The entire situation is all too familiar to an old memory that Nagisa has locked away.
Relationships: Ran Nagisa/Tomoe Hiyori, hiyonagi, nagihiyo
Comments: 3
Kudos: 47





	Sheers and Tears

“...Hibiki-kun, I have to leave early today.”

The silvery-blue haired figure spun around, his long hair following shortly behind him, bearing a smile that could burn retinas should he will it. Opened arms approached the person who called his name and wrapped them tightly around the figure in a suffocating embrace, but they stayed breathing still.

“No, no,” Wataru Hibiki, the director of the DRAMATICA theater group, cried out in his ear-piercing voice, “that won’t do at all, Ran-kun, we have so much yet to do for the day!” With the same lightning quick speed he had used to hug his target, he pulled away and kept his hands planted firmly on their shoulders. His expression remained the same, innocent and cheerful, cocking his head to one side. “What reason do you have for leaving us when we’re going to be doing final check for costumes later today?”   
  
“...I have a hair appointment,” Nagisa answered.

“What?!” Wataru’s eyes widened and the joy sunk from his face, replaced by what appeared to be genuine shock—whether it was or not, Nagisa still couldn’t quite tell. He’d always been bad at reading other people, especially with someone as skilled at masking their emotions as his teacher in the art of drama. Nonetheless, given the context, he chose to believe in the expression. “You weren’t planning to cut your hair, were you?”   
  
“...It has to be trimmed an inch every two months,” Nagisa explained rather than answer straightforwardly, “to keep it consistently the same length.”

“Oiya?” Wataru scrunched up his face around his nose, his smile returning in some capacity. “And where did you get that idea?”

“...As long as I’ve been alive,” Nagisa replied. “...It’s important that I go today since I’ll be off schedule if I don’t, and Ibara is too busy to do it for me.”

“A good thing too,” Wataru finally pulled back his arms and folded them across his chest, nodding to himself, “we can’t let you go and see some random barber, however. Perhaps it is my error as a teacher, but you should always ask your director if and when you want to get a haircut ahead of time, even if it’s just a trim~” Wataru ran a hand through his own hair as he flipped a lock that had fallen across his shoulder onto his back. “After all, we have already seen what your character will look like with their costumes once, so we should have that remain consistent throughout the entire course of the production; that includes the pre-production as well.”

“...I had not realized theatre was so restrictive,” Nagisa remarked, his brow rising slightly at the statement. “...I can understand the logic a little, but my hair should look how it normally does once it is done.”

“ _ Amazing! _ ” Wataru laughed as he raised his arms in the air. “You didn’t understand my point at all~ It doesn’t matter if it will look similar, because if we can’t control how it looks, then the feel of your character won’t match what its been up until this point.”

Frustration was the word that matched up with Nagisa’s current emotion. He recalled the books about body language he’d read and attempted to match their words, balling his hands into fists and lowering his brow. The slight release he experienced upon doing the motions was fascinating, and he found himself wanting to drop them out of his curiosity at the phenomenon, but held fast.

“Ran-kun got lost in his acting again,” Wataru noted as he moved in closer, cupping his chin between his thumb and index finger, “tell me, what is on your mind that compels you to make such a face?”

“...Why can’t I get my hair cut?” Nagisa asked.

“Ho-ho, my answers haven’t compelled you, have they?” Wataru closed his eyes and stood up straight, scratching his chin with the fingers that held it. Violet eyes sprung open but a moment later and his hands re-found their place on Nagisa’s steady and unmoving shoulders. “If there’s no other choice, then I will be the one to cut your hair~!”

A simple statement like that made Nagisa’s body tense, a memory from long ago resurfacing. He attempted to figure out if the other was making the offer in jest or not, concluding eventually that he was being legitimate. Would he let history repeat itself? He wasn’t sure. He had to figure out what the other was about for that.

“...Will you cry if you do a bad job at it?” Nagisa questioned, lowering his chin.

“I’ll shed all the tears in the world if I should ruin your amazing hair,” Wataru promised, “however I have great confidence in my skills, you have nothing to fear~”

Nagisa didn’t feel fear when it came to mundane things like if his hair would come out looking “bad” or “good.” His fear, or rather, anxiety fit better, was the other’s reaction to their own work. He took the confidence the other had as a matter of chance: either he was bluffing and there was no way to know whether or not he’d be satisfied, or he was being genuine and believed his skills would best suit the job. There was hardly any arguing with this type of person, nor was he the kind to properly dispute them, leaving his only response as a nod.

Seated and a sheet thrown over his chest in a similar fashion to an apron, Nagisa’s body stilled with eyes glued to the linoleum floor of the dressing room they were sat in. Behind him, he could hear the sound of scissors opening and closing, and soon felt long fingers stroking through his hair. It was a familiar feeling, this kind of grooming that he’d become accustomed to. Everyone seemed to like playing with his hair for some reason, but he enjoyed it.

  
“Ah, this texture is so pleasing,” Wataru observed with a delighted hum, “it’s so nice to not be the only one around here with hair that goes past the shoulders~ The conditioner you use must be lovely, it feels nice and light despite how thick the strands are.”

“...It’s what has been used on my hair since as far as I can remember,” Nagisa replied.

“You’ll have to share it with me some other time then,” Wataru arranged on his own, “now, let’s get to snip-snipping! Ah, this is always fun, I’ve always wanted to cut long hair like this.”

“...You haven’t cut your own hair before?”

“It’s not like I can~” Wataru sang the response before reaching down with his trusty scissors and making the first cut.

There was always one particular memory Nagisa reminisced upon whenever he got his hair trimmed. It was an old one, but not so far back as when he lived at Father’s home. No, it was back when he was thirteen, one full year of his life living as an independent human being.

He’d struggled especially harshly in that one year. At the time, he barely had enough consciousness to form an opinion on what he felt during that time, and ascribing one now felt disingenuous. He had to learn so much, and the surrounding reactions from more people than he had ever been around in his entire life flooded his senses. There was wrath, pity, and envy at points whenever anyone so much as looked at him or what he was doing, which back then amounted to almost nothing at all. He didn’t do anything without someone telling him to do it, that was the purpose of a doll, of an idol.

He had never eaten on his own, always having been spoon fed. He had never gone to sleep on his own, his night and day divided by the hands that shut and opened his eyelids. His bodily functions had been completely out of his own control up until he was ripped away from Father’s home and told he must learn to do these things and become human. Back then, he didn’t even have the capability to really ask why; Nagisa was grateful that he developed a sense of curiosity soon after that. It seemed to be the most human emotion he could latch onto and understand.

That curiosity led him to libraries within his new home, one of the Tomoe manors. Nagisa’s relation to reading had only come from pages put before him, the words written in such a way that concepts could be only barely understood but still read and make sense. He supposed the only reason he was even taught the skill in the first place was because he would eventually need to know how, as an idol, but it was never the same as actually  _ reading _ text that was meant to convey a message. As fortune had always favored him, however, he found that the cast aside son of the Tomoe family had taken a liking to him, and was very eager to share his favorite books.

Hiyori, his first friend, his best one still, and the person he adored with all his heart today, had always been someone shining in his eyes. He had been the person to bring color to Nagisa’s life, the one who made the day he had rarely seen up until that point look beautiful. He was the one Nagisa entrusted his newly formed soul to, and he clung to the idea that rather than belonging to Father, he belonged to Hiyori. As children, Hiyori seemed to take a liking to the idea and treated him somewhere between a human and a doll. He still encouraged Nagisa to read, to play, and to share secrets (although it had been mostly Hiyori’s, as Nagisa had a much harder time speaking back then).

Hiyori had also taken a fascination to playing dress up with Nagisa. As they were the same size back then, it was easy for them to wear matching outfits, for his hair to be tied in different ways, and for Hiyori to test his mother’s make-up on him to wavering success. In those days, it was hard for Nagisa to form his own opinion on whether or not he “liked” or “disliked” anything; a doll had no taste separate from their owner’s, after all. His reactionless behavior seemed to distress Hiyori to a painful degree, so they’d made an arrangement that, for whatever Hiyori was feeling, Nagisa should mimic until he was capable of reacting on his own.

That was why Hiyori had only ever cut Nagisa’s hair once.

It hadn’t been just a rainy day, but rather, a torrential downpour that kept coming down on and off again for the entire week. They’d essentially been trapped inside, leaving them without sunlight or stars. Nagisa was acclimated to the darkness, but Hiyori was restless and frustrated, making a small mountain of teru teru bozu and hanging them along the windowsills in as many rooms as they were allowed in. If the housekeepers took any down, he would scream that they were wishing the sun would just die and never come back. His parents eventually took note and gave one of their rare lectures, one of the only forms of attention they ever gave him. Hiyori, naturally, burst into tears and dragged Nagisa back with him, who was crying as well in response to Hiyori’s request.

Once their tears were dried, Hiyori found comfort in playing with Nagisa’s hair. Neither of them knew it at the time, but it would be the last time Hiyori ever ran his fingers through it so casually. Hiyori had been humming along to a song that was playing on his computer, tracing the length of Nagisa’s hair from his head to where it ended at his lower back.

“Your hair has gotten so long,” he mused aloud, “it’s even longer than when we first met. Does it hurt?”

Confusion had been a new emotion to Nagisa as well, his second strongest next to curiosity. He turned back to look at Hiyori, unsure of how to express it.

“...Hurt,” Nagisa mimicked the word, but it held no meaning. He was trying to ask for a definition, or explanation, but the path to getting there at the time was just as difficult.

“Ah, so it does!” Hiyori wailed empathetically, hugging Nagisa behind. “Don’t worry, I can take care of everything~ Let’s make your hair less heavy so we can bring good weather!”

To this day, Nagisa had no idea what Hiyori meant by that. He made such confusing comparisons between everything and the meaning of his name. Supposedly, it was just his catch-all catchphrase, which was befitting of an idol admittedly; he found it endearing all the same, that Hiyori would make such a bright spot out of what little things his parents gave him.

The next thing that followed was the sound of Hiyori fumbling around in his dressers, fabric and metal scraping against wood. He eventually let out a triumphant cry at finding the object of his search: a pair of antique silver scissors, stolen from his grandmother's room, Nagisa later learned.

“I’m gonna make you so beautiful,” Hiyori giddily proclaimed, “well, you’re already super gorgeous anyway, but I’m gonna give you the best haircut ever!”

The short preamble over, what soon followed was the sound of sheers closing around a thick lock of hair and cutting them clean off. The process repeated, Hiyori continuing to hum along to the music that played in the room and his snips in measure with the rhythm. Nagisa sat straightforward, unmoving and quiet, unused to what was happening. He could feel his hair leaving his body, but it didn’t bring about any pain. Relying on Hiyori’s mood as usual, he found no reason to find the process any different from how his hair was normally played with.

Then something changed. One bad cut done at an angle caused Hiyori’s breath to get caught in his throat. He let out a stressed drone and followed up the cut with a few other faster ones, all too quick to really understand what was going on by noise alone. Hiyori’s hands left Nagisa’s hair, and spurred on by his curiosity, the former doll turned around.

Purple eyes remained dry for but a moment, then the waterfalls came. They were a different kind from the ones he did around his parents; quiet, reserved, and whimpering.

“I...I made a mistake,” Hiyori managed to say between sobs, “and now it looks all uneven...”

This was a new experience Nagisa had no known reaction to base it off except for the one before him. He didn’t know that hair could grow back and everything would be okay. He didn’t know Hiyori hadn’t permanently damaged him beyond repair. The only metaphor Nagisa could think of to why Hiyori was crying, at the time, was that he’d dropped his doll and it developed a crack. That must have been the appropriate visceral response after all.

“Ah...Ah!” Hiyori dropped the scissors in his hands, clanging against the wooden surface below. He reached out, trembling and apologetic. “Nagisa-kun, please don’t cry! I didn’t mean to do a bad job, I’m sorry! Please...” Despite his protests, Hiyori’s own tears didn’t stop. Soon, the two were wailing in unison, prompting the doors to the bedroom open.

There was a lot of shifting around after that, arranging a hair stylist to come over with no information on their client other than a child who was given a bad haircut from a friend. By the time the repair was over, Nagisa’s hair was at the shortest it had ever been—halfway shoulder length. Something deep within Nagisa stirred at the sight of his hair being so short, an emotion he couldn’t name just yet. He went to see Hiyori to try and ask him what it was, but found the door to his bedroom locked.

“...Hiyori-kun,” he called out, receiving no response. He kept trying to turn the handle, confusion taking hold of his heart. Why didn’t Hiyori open the door? Was he asleep?

The door eventually opened, Hiyori on the other side with the skin around his eyes blotched in red. He let out a soft gasp as he saw Nagisa on the other side before lowering his head, clinging to the doorknob on his side.

“...I’m sorry,” Nagisa murmured, not knowing what to say. It was one of the last things Hiyori had said, and he knew the meaning was meant for atoning a mistake. He didn’t know what kind he had made, but Hiyori was not looking like himself. It must have been an error on Nagisa’s part.

“What...?” Hiyori lifted his expression, brows furrowing. “What are you talking about, Nagisa-kun? You don’t have to apologize, no, in fact, you should be upset with me. Oh, I cut it too short and they had to fix it by cutting it even further! It’s all my fault, I should be the one saying sorry, not you!”

“...I forgive you,” Nagisa responded, recalling the phrase from one of the books about conflict resolution they had read.

“Nagisa-kun,” Hiyori clenched his fist and shook his head, “you can’t just forgive someone that easily. I know you’re only saying that because you think it’s what you  _ have _ to say.”

What was he trying to convey, acting as strangely as he was now? Hiyori was already different from other humans he met; instead of cold and indifferent to such a degree that they were no different from Father, Hiyori’s emotions were so wild and unkept that he made a great reference for all the things Nagisa was trying to learn. Despite that, there was an ache in his chest due to being yelled at with such vitriol. Books could not help him in discerning what to do here.

“...I don’t hate Hiyori-kun,” Nagisa concluded.

“Eh...?” Hiyori’s eyes widened and the vitriol in his voice gave way to bafflement. “What...?”

“...Does Hiyori-kun hate me?” Nagisa asked, tilting his head.

Hiyori was quiet for a while, his hand on the door wavering and threatening to shut it at any second. Nagisa stepped closer in response and found a pair of arms wrapping themselves around him.

“No,” Hiyori sobbed into his shoulder, “no, I could never hate you, Nagisa-kun. I’m sorry, I’ve been such an awful friend.”

From then on, Nagisa had to learn how to tie his own hair. Hiyori helped show him reference books and videos, but he only ever defaulted to the hairstyle he was used to, with his ponytail thrown over his shoulder. At the time, Nagisa just assumed Hiyori was teaching him how to sustain his existence as a human who could take care of himself, no different than learning how to use utensils and going to sleep on his own. It wasn’t until much later that he noticed how much Hiyori avoided touching his hair at all.

“Ran-kun~” Nagisa’s eyes opened fully as he heard his name being called, leaving the past behind and looking into the mirror that was placed before him. “What do you think? I think it came out pretty good!”

“...It’s hard to tell with this hairstyle,” Nagisa replied, reaching up and brushing his fingers over the surface of the large French braid that took up the entirety of his hair.

“Trust me, trust me,” Wataru reassured as he leaned over and flashed the other with a brilliant smile, “you look even better than before. Ah, I’m glad to have done this, I discovered a new way I would like for your character’s look to be portrayed!”

“...Wasn’t this done so that my character’s appearance was not inconsistent with what we had already established?”

“This is coming from the director,” Wataru clarified as he removed the apron from Nagisa and started sweeping up the clips of hair on the floor, “and the director is allowed to make as many changes to his vision up until the final performance~”

Nagisa couldn’t decide if Wataru was annoying to talk with or utterly fascinating. His behavior was evocative of the chaos of humanity, yet he acted as though he had no humanity of his own. What could he really learn from someone who also claimed he could not ad-lib properly? Yet here Nagisa was, satisfied with the job Wataru had done with his hair, and capable of understanding his role in the stage play they were rehearsing. At the end of it all, Nagisa had grown into a being that knew what it liked and disliked.

A familiar tone played from Nagiasa’s pocket, alerting him to his phone. He still hadn’t quite gotten a grasp on the concept of checking his messages whenever he got a free moment, as he found it to be a pain and a waste of his time. Not only that, but technology like this still eluded his grasp, which was frustrating for someone like him who normally picked things up with ease. After a little fiddling around, however, he managed to make his way to the chatroom of the person who messaged him.

_ Nagisa-kun~ Where are you! I went to the salon but you weren’t there?! Σ(°△°|||)︴ _

He’d completely forgotten that Hiyori was going to be the one who picked him up from the stylist.

_ Rehearsal _

He quickly shot the reply and stashed his phone away. He felt another buzz from it but ignored it as he was getting out of his costume, and by the time he was back in his day clothes he could hear a commotion near the back entrance to the theater.

“What do you mean you cut his hair?!” Hiyori’s voice was shrill and rang through the backstage. As Nagisa turned the corner, he could see his cheeks burning hot red and contrasting against the pale green of his hair.

“It’s just as I said~” Wataru deflected the anger tossed his way as easily as it was spewed in his direction, “our costume checks were today, so I needed to make sure no drastic changes would overcome the appearance of our character. Look, there he is now!”

The harsh expression that plagued Hiyori’s face softened and returned to something more befitting of the gentle sun Nagisa was accustomed to. They approached each other and stopped just a few feet apart, Hiyori’s eyes scanning Nagisa’s face as Nagisa did the same in return.

“Hm~” Hiyori pouted, cupping his own cheeks with his fingers, “I guess if it’s put up like this, you couldn’t have done too bad a job, but we’ll have to inspect it later. If I find my Nagisa-kun’s hair has been damaged beyond repair, I’ll have you pay with all the power of the Tomoe family’s lawyers.”

“...Hair grows back, Hiyori-kun,” Nagisa reminded, the other’s face appearing pained at the words.

“That it does!” Wataru agreed as he slapped a hand against Nagisa’s back, his target still as stone at the touch. “Now, before you head out, I have one last thing to speak about with my pupil. Wait by the door, won’t you~?”

“How unfortunate,” Hiyori sighed, folding his arms, “but fine, just don’t take too long or I really will make a fuss.”

The two watched Hiyori walk back towards the entrance, Wataru eerily quiet up until he scratched the back of his head. Nagisa had noted that was usually when his mentor was dropping whatever “character” his Wataru Hibiki was supposed to be.

“He’s very possessive of you,” Wataru noted with an airy chuckle at the edge of his mouth, “but he’s just as quick to listen to what you have to say. That’s difficult for someone like him, I would bet.”

“...That’s how Hiyori-kun shows his love,” Nagisa amended the thought, “he has always wanted me to be my own person...He took care of me, even when I didn’t know the basics of being alive and formed my soul until it took on a shape of its own.”

“Mm,” Wataru mumbled as he cupped his chin in-between his thumb and index finger, “I do not doubt you. He wears his heart on his sleeve as well, so he must have been a great source for you to learn emotions from.”

“...A lot,” Nagisa nodded, “all kinds, even ones he didn’t want me to learn in the way that he ended up teaching them to me.”

“How curious~” Wataru clapped his hands together and turned to face Nagisa properly, his shining purple eyes reinvigorated as they took on his character once more. “Have you ever thought about doing the same in return? I mean teaching him something you’ve learned. Oh, I’m sure you’ve gotten to study many fascinating things in the short while you’ve been a human being, but I’m talking about emotionally here. You’re one of the better actors here, yet you seem to struggle with immediately understanding what expression you should be taking with your character in a particular scene. Of course, your strength lies in picking that up and incorporating it without fuss. It’s quite a delightful little talent you have there, Ran-kun~ However, as soon as you are done playing that character, you seem to default back to your normal listless state. I can’t imagine anyone who knows you is capable of confidently understanding what it is that you’re feeling, even if they’ve known you for a long time just because of that stone-like face of yours. My point with this bit of instruction before we part is that it is just as important to say what it is that you  _ mean _ just as much as it is to express what it is that you feel. Au revoir, dear Ran-kun, until we see each other at the next stage~”

Wataru then proceeded to do a double backflip as he headed towards the direction of the stage, waving off once he landed. Nagisa waved back, still processing the words he had been given as he headed towards the door. Once there, he instinctively smiled in the direction of his childhood friend. Hiyori’s eyes were somber as they remained fixed on the ground, but alighted with life as they met Nagisa’s own red ones.

“Finally, he let you go,” Hiyori remarked with a relieved sigh passing his lips, “I missed you so much, Nagisa-kun.” Their hands reached out for each other and met halfway, linking up as they proceeded to walk.

“...I missed you too,” Nagisa returned, his attention less on the road ahead and more on his partner beside him. After a couple of minutes, he found his lips parting as he found what it was that he wanted to say. “...Hiyori-kun, do you remember when you cut my hair?”

“Ah!!” Hiyori lowered his head into his free hand’s palm, shaking it violently in response. “Please, please don’t bring that up, Nagisa-kun! It’s still so embarrassing to think about to this day; to think I made you cry with how poorly I cut your hair, what bad weather...”

“...I wasn’t crying because of the haircut,” Nagisa corrected, “I was crying because of your reaction to my haircut...I was just trying to mimic you as I always was back then.”

“Nn,” Hiyori lifted his head a little, clenching his hand into a fist over his heart, “I...I recognize that, I do, but it’s hard to think of it that way when I was using that as an excuse to get you to feel the same way as me back then.” Hiyori took a deep breath and squeezed Nagisa’s hand tighter, his eyes and lips stern. “Maybe you never noticed it back then, but I wasn’t very interested in teaching you how to be your own person when we met. Most of the time, I just wanted someone I could have as a friend to relate to all of my pent up aggravations. I was a really bothersome kid for putting that on to you who had nothing. No, deplorable even. It wasn’t right of me to tell you to cry just because I was, I should have told you to keep a positive outlook and always look on the bright side of things. Hair does grow back, and tears are only temporary. No one should have to cry over useless things like that when there are real tragedies happening in this world.”

Nagisa stopped moving, Hiyori forced to still as well thanks to their physical connection. The green haired man turned his head back and Nagisa in return pulled the other hand away from its place on his chest, bringing them both down in between them.

“...I could not imagine myself as alive if I did not know how to cry,” Nagisa stated, “nor could I hate you for wanting things we could relate upon...Hiyori-kun is someone who doesn’t want others to bear their burdens alone, but he won’t allow others to do the same for him...I missed the days where you could speak to me about how you truly felt and I could understand it without needing to rely upon simply knowing you.”

Lavender eyes met Nagisa’s own, shimmering in confusion and awe. Against the crimson twilight sky, they reflected with all the purity of an unknown gemstone, the kind that drew Nagisa in again and again in wanting to understand their secrets.

“...No matter how ugly or negative you believe your expression is,” Nagisa continued, bringing up an index finger and pressing it underneath Hiyori’s chin, lifting it up further, “Hiyori-kun is shining. You always have and always will...I want to share that with you, even if it means I’ll make a face you don’t like...Even if it means you style my hair in a way that you’re not satisfied with how it came out...I want those things because I love you, Hiyori-kun.”

Hiyori, youngest son of the Tomoe family and well known for getting in trouble with his high-society driven mouth, was struck dead silent. Thankfully, Nagisa could read from the red set on his cheeks matched with eyes that were fit to spill over with tears at any moment the feeling that the other was trying to convey. They felt the same, as they always did. They moved in at the same time and met halfway, lips colliding solidly for the first time.

“Nagisa-kun,” Hiyori spoke as he broke away first, his breath wavering slightly, “I’ve always felt it’s very unfair how quickly you learn things, but this has to be the most annoying example of that. Still, I’m not too upset.” His smile stretched across his cheeks and Hiyori kissed Nagisa one more time before stepping back again, shaking his head. “Really, I’m not. I didn’t think I’d ever hear you say something like that to me, I always assumed that...I assumed I’d never rank the same in your heart as you have in mine.”

“...We’ve always shared the same heart,” Nagisa soothed the other as he held their hands together again, “as God took Adam’s rib to make Eve, they’re bonded to each other in a way where one cannot live without the other...I will be the cage that shields your heart that has given me life.”

“Stop it, stop it,” Hiyori begged with a giggle escaping him, a stray tear rolling onto his cheek, “I’m supposed to be the one protecting you! Ah, well, I suppose I can let you coddle me a little, you’ve certainly earned the right as my equal.”

“...Let’s go home, Hiyori-kun.”

“Yes, we’ll go home, Nagisa-kun.”

**Author's Note:**

> hi thanks to my friends in the ibara mcdonald's server for supporting me in this endeavor, my twt is @nagisenpai and also follow @nagihiyobot for more nagihiyo propaganda.


End file.
